Bad economy makes Spam look good

AUSTIN, MINN. -- The economy is in tatters and, for millions of people, the future is uncertain. But for some employees at the Hormel Foods plant here, times have never been better. They are working at a furious pace and piling up all the overtime they want.

The workers make Spam, perhaps the iconic hard-times food in the American pantry.

Through war and recession, Americans have turned to the glistening canned product from Hormel as a way to save money while still putting something that resembles meat on the table. Now, in a sign of the times, it is happening again, and Hormel is cranking out as much Spam as its workers can handle.

In a factory that abuts Interstate 90, two shifts of workers have been making Spam seven days a week since July, and they have been told that the relentless work schedule will continue indefinitely.

Spam, a gelatinous 12-ounce rectangle of spiced ham and pork, may be among the world's most maligned foods, dismissed as inedible by food elites and skewered by comedians who have offered smart-alecky theories on its name (one G-rated example: Something Posing As Meat).

But these days, consumers are rediscovering relatively cheap foods, Spam among them. A 12-ounce can of Spam, marketed as "Crazy Tasty," costs about $2.40. "People are realizing it's not that bad a product," said Dan Johnson, 55, who operates a 70-foot-high Spam oven.

Hormel declined to cooperate with this article, but several of its workers were interviewed recently with the help of their union, the United Food and Commercial Workers International Union Local 9. Slumped in chairs at the union hall after making 149,950 cans of Spam on the day shift, several veteran workers said they had been through boom times before -- but nothing like this.

Spam "seems to do well when hard times hit," said Dan Bartel, business agent for the union local. "We'll probably see Spam lines instead of soup lines."

Blend of history, humor

Spam holds a special place in America's culinary history, both as a source of enduring humor and of cheap protein during hard times.

Invented during the Great Depression by Jay Hormel, the son of the company's founder, Spam is a combination of ham, pork, sugar, salt, water, potato starch and a "hint" of sodium nitrate "to help Spam keep its gorgeous pink color," according to Hormel's Web site for the product.

Because it is vacuum-sealed in a can and does not require refrigeration, Spam can last for years. Hormel says "it's like meat with a pause button."

During World War II, Spam became a staple for Allied troops overseas. They introduced it to local residents, and it remains popular in many parts of the world where the troops were stationed.

Spam developed a camp following in the 1970s, thanks mainly to Monty Python, the English comedy troupe. In a 1970 skit, a couple attempted to order breakfast at a cafe featuring Spam in nearly every entree, like "Spam, Eggs, Sausage and Spam." The diners were eventually drowned out by a group of Vikings singing, "Spam, lovely Spam, wonderful Spam."

(Familiar with the skit, Internet pioneers labeled junk e-mail "spam" because it overwhelmed other dialogue, according to one theory.)

In Austin, local officials have tried to capitalize on Spam's kitschy cultural status, even if a decidedly unpleasant odor hangs over the town (a slaughterhouse next to the Hormel plant butchers 19,000 hogs a day). Austin advertises itself as "Spamtown," and it boasts 13 restaurants with Spam on the menu.

Jerry's Other Place sells a Spamburger for $6.29. Johnny's "Spamarama" menu includes eggs Benedict with Spam for $7.35. At Steve's Pizza, a medium Spam and pineapple pizza costs $11.58.